Carnival as Confessional
by ClassyGirlsWearPearls
Summary: Greg works at a fundraiser. Mycroft makes a confession. Follows "Returning to London."


**A/N: ****I'm so fucking done with the library. When is graduation?**

**For MST, who is going through another shit patch. All of my love, duckling! You're a gorgeous young lady who will conquer every shitty thing hurled at you.**

Greg both loved and hated the carnival that the Met put on every year. He loved seeing kids laughing and smiling, but he would rather be a participant with his own children rather than working. The fundraiser was fantastic because it always meant that each department got a little extra in their budget, but God, there is only so much cotton candy a man can make. Still, he kept a smile on his face and tried not to glance at his watch at every chance he got.

He supposed that if his kids were still young enough to enjoy things like this, he would love it. He would still have to work at it, but Michelle used to bring the kids by and he would be able to steal away for a little bit in order to have some fun with them. Sarah and Henry will still recall with great fondness the year when they were three when Greg had been in the dunk tank. Neither one of them was able to hit the target with the ball, but Michelle had an evil glint in her eye and hefted both of them up, despite being six months pregnant, and carried them over to push the button that sent Greg into the now cold water. Once he reemerged, she smiled evilly and said, "My turn." Michelle had bought five balls, and with the accuracy of a military sniper and to the delight of the twins, she proceeded to dunk Greg five times in a row. Once her turns had run out, she blew him a kiss and took the giggling twins by the hand to wait for Daddy to finish up.

Thinking of Michelle made him miss Mycroft. Mycroft had been away at some convening of NATO countries and wasn't due back for another three days. Something pulled tight in his chest as he thought of the week long trip and how cold and empty the bed was. Greg was so used to Mycroft sleeping on top of him that he was not only cold, but had discovered that he couldn't sleep without some sort of weight on top of him. He settled for sleeping on his stomach with extra blankets around him, because there was at least some pressure on the front of his body this way. Their contact had also been limited, because there was such a stir over the activity happening in Crimea that the delegates and their parties had been working nearly round the clock to try and figure out a plan of action regarding the rebellious state. He had had four texts from Mycroft each day, each one telling him goodnight and how much he loved him. Greg sent multiple texts during the day knowing Mycroft wouldn't answer them, but knowing that Mycroft liked to hear from him to bring him back down to Earth in situations such as this one. Still, it hurt a bit to see ten or so texts go unanswered all day.

Greg sighed. There was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was keep making cotton candy and watching the children who were there smile like he had changed their life by giving them that odiously sweet treat. Yet another thing that made him miss Mycroft: his husband had a ridiculous sweet tooth, and as much as he tried not to indulge, the pure sugar that Greg was handing out would have made his eyes light up.

There was soon a lull in the number of people who wanted things from him (God, what a blessed relief that was), so Greg set about organizing the station so the next person wouldn't have to deal with some God awful mess when they started their shift. When his back was turned and he was crouched down to grab some more of the mix to pour into the machine, someone cleared their throat behind them.

"Sorry, just give me a minute," Greg said, reaching for the carton he wanted. He hauled himself up, joints everywhere cracking (Christ he was getting old) and turned around to see a smiling man with an umbrella hanging off of his arm.

"I apologize for interrupting you," Mycroft deadpanned, a small smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "I just couldn't help but notice how lovely you were and was wondering if you would like to walk around this fine establishment whenever you're done whipping up threads of sugar.

Greg gaped at him and then pulled him down by his lapels for a soft kiss. "I thought you were supposed to be somewhere doing something with NATO about Crimea."

Mycroft pulled back and brushed his still pristine lapels. "NATO can go fuck itself."

Greg burst out laughing. "That might be the most vulgar thing I've ever heard you say, Mycroft Holmes."

"Yes, well, they were all incredibly dull and we were getting nowhere. I may have orchestrated a small yet easily solvable crisis back home so I could leave."

"Bloody megalomaniac," Greg muttered. "What am I going to do with you and your humongous ego?"

"Well, I was planning something for later, but I would rather like to spend the day with you just walking and doing nothing in particular. When are you freed from your duties of ruining the teeth of children?"

"Mycroft, we're British. To think that not giving these kids cotton candy would save their teeth is kind of like closing the barn door after the cows have run away."

"I believe the idiom has something to do with horses, Gregory dear."

"If you're just going to criticize me you can sod off and I'll keep working all day rather than getting out of here in about five minutes. I don't need your shit," Greg winked.

"Well then, it appears that I'll just have to woo that unfortunate man in the dunk tank."

Greg's face turned stony. "That's Anderson. That shit isn't even funny anymore."

Mycroft visibly shuddered. "In that case, I will suffer the company of a terribly rude gentleman and wait here until said gentleman is finished with his duties."

Greg smiled, then turned to the little girl with red pigtails who was sucking her thumb and clutching DS Davies' cuff. "Hello, darling!" Greg beamed. "What's your name?"

"S'mantha," the girl muttered shyly, burying her face in her mother's leg.

"Lovely to meet you, Miss Samantha," Greg responded. "You look so smart in your dress there. How old are you? You must be at least seven."

Samantha shook her head and said, "'M two" around her thumb, holding out two fingers with her free hand. "Not seven."

Greg pulled a face of mock surprise. "No!" he gasped. "That can't be right. You mean a big girl like you is so grown up and smart like a seven year old when you're only two? That's amazing! Would you like some cotton candy to celebrate how smart you are?"

"Pwease," Samantha replied, not quite having mastered the letter l yet.

Greg smiled up at Davies, who was a young single mother. He recognized the dark smudges under her eyes and felt a pang of sympathy for her. Davies was on track to rise quickly through the ranks of the Met and worked hard despite the fact that she had Samantha. Greg knew the father wasn't in the picture because while investigating a particularly brutal murder, the bloke's DNA showed up as a match in their computer to the rapist of Annie Davies. Davies had been on his squad before her rape, but once she had come back from maternity leave, she had put in a request to be transferred to the unit that investigated sex crimes. Greg had given her a tight hug when she came into his office trembling to talk about transferring and said that there would always be a spot on his team for her should she ever choose to come back.

"Alright Annie?" Greg asked once Samantha was preoccupied with her cotton candy.

"Lovely, ta," Davies replied. "You?"

"Never better," Greg smiled. "How's the promotion treating you?"

"Sometimes I wonder why I took it," Davies admitted. "Then I get home to this little rascal and I remember why."

"Just wait until you're promoted to DI," Greg said with a wink. "Everything scares the living shiiiidaylights out of you, but the kids remind you why you do it every day."

Davies gave an appreciative grin at him catching the curse word before it left his mouth, even though Samantha was clearly preoccupied with Mycroft, who was indulging her by picking her up and talking about ponies to her.

"How's your lot?" Davies asked.

"They're grand," Greg replied. "Sarah and Henry are off to uni in the fall, which I can't believe because they were just born yesterday. Tris is a keeper and Charlotte is a striker for their school's football teams. Ian has really gotten into graphic design and is looking into programs where he can learn more about animation. Katie has recently decided that she wants to be PM so she can make it illegal for parents to not buy horses for their children. I think the working name for her party is the 'Ponies or Die' party."

Davies laughed. "That one," she gestured to Samantha with her head, "would vote for her. Your husband has a way with the little ones."

"He's great with them," Greg agreed, ensuring that Mycroft could hear. "If you ever need a night to yourself, or just some general peace and quiet, let us know. Lord knows I miss having really little ones around, and every parent needs a break."

"You don't have to do that, boss," Davies said shyly, her eyes darting to the ground.

"I don't, but I really do miss having ones her age around and, no offense, but you look like you need a break. When was the last time you had a day to yourself or slept through the night, Davies?"

Davies laughed. "Point taken. I'll let you know."

"No you won't," Greg admonished. "I know you Davies. We will let you know because you will never pick up the damn phone and give me that call."

Davies held up her hands. "Fine, fine. You know where to find me, boss."

"Damn straight I do. I signed the paperwork that put you at your current desk."

Davies blushed. "Thanks again for that." Their conversation was interrupted by Samantha squirming and Mycroft struggling to hold onto her. "Alright, wormy, that's enough," Davies said, taking her back. "We don't want you jumping out the DIs husband's arms, do we?"

"Nooooooooo Mwycoff," Samantha yelled, reaching back for Mycroft. Mycroft looked surprised.

"Sorry," Davies apologized. "She's usually so shy. She just latched right onto you though. You're a natural." She smiled. "Sam, love, we have to let him go now. You'll see-" Davies paused.

"Mycroft Holmes," Mycroft said, holding out his left hand to accommodate the scrambling child in Davies' right arm.

"You'll see Mr. Holmes soon enough, angel. Can you wave goodbye to your new friends?"

Samantha gave a soft hiccup and waved to them. Both Greg and Mycroft waved back to her, smiling. At that point, Greg's relief came and he was able to give Mycroft a proper hug and kiss hello. Mycroft pulled back and joined their hands together.

"You're a natural with kids," Greg said. "I can't believe you were so frightened to meet mine."

"I admit that children are marginally less terrifying that I originally believed they were," Mycroft conceded with a wink.

Greg squeezed Mycroft's hand, and they walked in silence for a little while. Mycroft dropped a few bills into the donation box at the exit (Greg pointedly didn't look at how large said bills were) and they strolled out of the area hand in hand in a companionable silence.

"Do you ever get broody?" Mycroft asked.

"I've been broody since I understood the concept of being a parent," Greg replied. "Of course I get broody. I miss having little kids around and I hate how quickly my kids are growing up. It hurts a lot, and I wish I could have kept them small forever. The blight of a parent, I guess. Still, I'm a little on in the years to have another one. That's why you get your kids to have grandkids."

He smiled up at Mycroft, expecting a grin back, but he was met with a stony face that Mycroft only used when he was unable to hide his emotions any other way.

"My?" Greg asked. "What's on your mind, love?"

"Nothing, Gregory."

"We've talked about the wall, Mycroft. You do it with others, that's fine. You do it with me, and we have an issue. What's on your mind, love?"

Mycroft's mouth opened and closed and then he began to breathe quickly.

"Hey, hey, Mycroft breathe easy for me, will you love?" Greg said frantically. "Jesus, love, it's okay. If it makes you this uncomfortable then we can wait until you're ready."

"Yes, that would be-" Mycroft paused, then said, "Gregory, I want a baby."

**A/N: ISTG I didn't mean for this particular plot line to happen now, but a perfect opportunity arose. My original version of Mycroft popping the question was really awful and I was waiting until I could think of something better to start it. So this is happening. Buckle up, bitches.**


End file.
